Flying Gold

by Vanessa North

  I swallow and look away from him, tears prickling my eyes. I scrub them away. I’m not accustomed to being praised for the work I do. My siblings and I support each other, and we appreciate each other, but the way he describes me, with honest-to-god admiration in his tone, that’s something I don’t expect and didn’t, until this moment, realize I was hungry for.

  “What’s the matter?” He brushes a thumb over my teary cheekbone.

  “I don’t know,” I wail. A sob wrenches out of me as he gathers me in his arms and pulls me against his chest.

  “Shhhh.” He strokes my hair and holds me as the dam breaks and tears stream down my face. I keen and cry, and he just grabs his T-shirt and wipes my eyes and my nose, then lets me cry some more.

  When I’m finally exhausted, depleted, and wrung dry, he offers to make tea, but I shake my head and stretch out in his soft bed.

  He lies next to me and cards his hand through my hair. His face is full of questions.

  “Go ahead and ask.”

  “When did he die?” he asks. Because of course he knows that this outpouring of grief has nothing to do with his declaration of love and everything to do with being alone and unmoored in a world without my rock.

  “It’s been almost a year.” I look down at my hands. “He was diagnosed with an interstitial lung disease five years ago. The doctors weren’t sure what caused it, but he was managing it. He was on oxygen, he got his flu and pneumonia vaccines every year. We moved his bedroom downstairs so he didn’t put extra strain on his lungs. He stopped working on cars, but he still ran the business.”

  “What happened?”

  “He got a cold.”

  “That’s it?”

  I shake my head. “Cold turned into ear infection turned into sinus infection. Sinus infection turned into pneumonia.”

  “Ani, I’m so sorry.”

  “I always felt like losing Mom so young meant we’d have Dad forever. I know that’s a stupid, childish thing to think.”

  “No, it’s not.” He presses my hand between his and kisses my fingertips. “You believed what you needed to for your world to make sense. It’s like any kind of faith.”

  “It’s my fault Tanner didn’t make it home to say goodbye. I was in denial, and when I called her and told her to come home, it was too late.”

  “No. It’s not your fault.” He shakes his head adamantly. “And Tanner would say the same thing.”

  “She has said the same thing, but that doesn’t make it true.”

  “You should stop punishing yourself.”

  I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. It’s white, textured. There’s a tiny star sticker left behind by a previous renter. I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Dad was the only person who believed in me.”

  “I doubt that.” He rolls to his back and we lie there, staring at the star, holding hands. “But even if that was true, it’s not anymore. Your brother and sisters? They believe in you. And they depend on you, so much. Tanner’s brilliant, but anyone can tell she doesn’t know the first thing about fixing a car. Tegan and Tyler practically worship the ground you walk on.”

  “They do not,” I scoff, but his words fill me with pride anyway.

  “I believe in you.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but there’s a steel in his voice that quiets my reckless soul. “And I’ll believe in you so much, you’ll believe in yourself too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Matt

  Tiffani Ellis is my girlfriend.

  Sometimes life dances around you in a strange circle and you find yourself looking at your past and marveling to find yourself back on a path you thought you’d abandoned. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would be waking up with Ani—I’d have laughed them out of the room. And yet here we are.

  Tiffani Ellis is my girlfriend.

  I can’t help grinning like a fool as I cook us breakfast. Okay, so it’s cinnamon rolls from one of those cans that pops open, but it’s kind of cooking. It’s cooking-ish. When she comes out of the bathroom, hair damp from her shower, in a pair of my shorts and one of my T-shirts, she smiles shyly and greets me with a toe-curling kiss. Her tongue sliding into my mouth and her hand tangling in my hair is enough to have me itching to take her back to bed.

  “Good morning,” she murmurs. “You taste like sugar.”

  “Spilled the icing, so I stole a taste,” I murmur back, burying my face in the sweet skin of her neck. She smells like my soap and it gets me hard. “How are you this morning?”

  “Mmm, good. I slept like a rock. I like your bed.”

  “I like you in my bed.” I kiss along her collarbone and bite her earlobe. “Want to go back there?”

  “I’m starving; feed me first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I pull out the barstool for her and help her up into it before returning to the job of frosting cinnamon rolls. “So, I have to go to L.A. next week. I’ll be back in time for the weekend, but I was kind of hoping you might come with me. Thursday night’s the premiere of a film I worked on. It would mean a lot. And you could dress up for the red carpet. Rub elbows with movie stars.” I can see her now, dressed in couture, her hair tumbling in waves down her back.

  “To California?” Her eyes get big as I nod. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry. Even if I could be away from the shop—and I can’t, I have too many responsibilities.”

  “You could meet my best friend Trent. We were roommates at Columbia. Surely Tanner and Tegan can keep the shop afloat a few days.”

  She shakes her head. “I really can’t. I’m sorry. Besides, Britney’s baby shower is Thursday and I already promised I’d go.”

  “Okay. Yeah, no, I get it.” I’m disappointed, but I try not to show how much as I fetch the cinnamon rolls from the oven and spread the icing over them.

  “Matt, I own a business. I need more notice than this.”

  I swallow and smile. “I know. I just got a little carried away at the idea of walking the red carpet with you. There will be other red carpets. And it won’t be the first or last time I’ll go solo, I’m sure.”

  She takes the cinnamon roll I offer and props one knee up against the breakfast bar. “I have some more bad news. I can’t crew for you at Tate Field. I’m emceeing the race. I’m sorry. But I asked Ven and he said he would do it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now I’ve disappointed you again.” She frowns down at the pastry. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I wrap my arms around her waist. “You mentioned emceeing at Tate before; I guess I just didn’t think it all the way through. Thanks for asking Ven to fill in, though. I’m sure he’ll be great.”

  “He will be. He’s a good kid. Super smart and he works his ass off.”

  We eat our cinnamon rolls in silence, then she takes my hand and leads me back to bed. She pushes me down and peels my shirt off over her head, baring her gorgeous body to my hungry gaze.

  “Let’s make some memories to take back to California with you.”

  * * *

  I can still taste her, feel her under my skin, on Thursday when the Uber drops me in front of my apartment building. I feel oddly out of place. It’s my home, and I’m used to being away for long stretches, but today I’m a fish out of water. I climb the stairs and unlock my door, calling out to announce my arrival.

  “Trent? I’m ho—Oh.”

  There’s a girl on my countertop. She’s on her knees, wearing shorts and a tank, and she’s digging through the cupboards with her honey-colored hair in a messy pile on her head. She glances over her shoulder and stops short when she sees me. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I answer. “Who are you?”

  “Audra Turner. Who are you?”

  Okay. I don’t remember Trent mentioning an Audra, but, sure, sure. “I’m Matt. This is my apartment.”

  Her eyes get w
ide, and she jumps down. She’s petite and pretty, California-tan with green eyes and dimples. “Hey! That’s awesome. Do you have any tarragon? I can’t find any and I’m making omelets. Do you want one?”

  “No, thank you. I had breakfast at the airport in Atlanta. Who are you?”

  She rolls her eyes, as if her presence in my kitchen is the most obvious thing in the world, and I’m ridiculous for asking. “Audra. Like Audrey, but -ra instead of -rey.”

  “Right, I got that part. Are you a friend of Trent’s? Where is he?”

  “He went for a run. He’s my husband.”

  Record scratch.

  “He’s your husband?”

  She holds out her hand, showing me the diamond glinting off her ring finger. “We eloped last weekend. Eep! Isn’t he so spontaneous? It’s so great.”

  Trent is spontaneous, but eloping is pretty out there even for him. “I didn’t even know he was dating anyone.”

  “Oh, we didn’t date. We’ve known each other, like, three weeks. It was totally love at first sight. Oh—do you believe in love at first sight? I didn’t used to, until it happened to me. It’s totally legit.”

  “Right. It sounds totally legit. I’m gonna go set my stuff down. The spices are in the other cupboard.” I point to the other side of the stove.

  Safely behind closed doors, I text Trent. WTF, dude, get home, now.

  I kick off my shoes, toss my clothes in the drawer and pull my tux out of the closet, still in the dry-cleaning bag from the Oscars. I take it out and inspect it. There are a few little wrinkles from storage, but nothing anyone will even notice. Thank god I’m not an actor. I hang it back in the closet.

  I text Tiffani. Home. I miss you.

  I hide in the bedroom as the smell of eggs and tarragon fills the air. My phone buzzes.

  Goober, you’ll be back in two days, get over it.

  I grin. Send me a picture?

  I can practically see her rolling her eyes at me, and I guffaw when the photo comes through—a picture of my car.

  Hot, I text back.

  Yeah, she is. Have fun tonight. I’ll see you when you get back.

  The text is followed by a selfie, her sweet lips curved up in a smile, a blush tinting her cheeks. Embarrassed? Then I remember she works in a car shop, and the guys will probably tease her for taking a selfie in the shop.

  You’re gorgeous. Thanks for indulging me.

  She doesn’t reply. That’s okay, because I hear the front door open, and an enthusiastic greeting from Audra-the-surprise-wife.

  Should I give them time to make out? Or should I just go out there? I don’t want to walk in on anything. Jesus, I’m paranoid in my own home. That won’t do.

  I open the door and walk toward the kitchen.

  “Matt!” Trent bombards me with a sweaty hug, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me off the ground. “I missed the shit out of you, you bastard.”

  I hug him back, forgiving him—a little—for the surprise wife. “Missed you too, buddy. What’s all this about?” I gesture at the kitchen.

  He steps back, his face all goofy. “Isn’t she amazing? We met at one of my shows—dude, they’re going so well—and we stayed up all night talking. It was love at first sight. And we have so much in common.”

  “But eloping?”

  He shrugs. “When you know you want to be with someone for the rest of your life, why on earth would you want to wait?”

  “Well, congratulations. If I’d known, I’d have sent a gift.”

  “She’s all the gift I need.” He grins at me. “But you could do me a favor.”

  Uh oh. A favor could mean just about anything when it comes to Trent. “Like what?”

  “Do you have a spare ticket to the premiere tonight? A plus-one?”

  “Uh huh. Tiffani couldn’t come.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Could you take Audra? I have a show tonight, and I love that she comes to my shows, but she needs to meet more people, do some networking.”

  “Networking? Is she an actress?”

  “Yeah. She’s shot a pilot for a show that got picked up by NBC, so she’s working, but she’s got no network outside of her cast mates yet.”

  I glance back at the kitchen, where Audra is plating the omelets. She seems nice enough, even if she did take me by surprise. “Yeah, I can introduce her around. But seriously—three weeks?”

  He shrugs and spreads his arms wide. “When it’s right, it’s right.” He turns around and accepts an omelet from his wife. As they sit down to eat, I retreat to my bedroom.

  In some ways, it’s easier taking a colleague to a premiere than taking a partner. It’s all business, no pointed questions about my relationship. But in other ways—well, damn. I wanted to show off my girlfriend, and instead I’m playing purse-holder to Trent’s wife.

  I check my hair in the mirror. I haven’t had a haircut in months. Something about the way Tiffani’s hands feel tangling in my curls makes me want to keep it growing. But I should visit the barber before tonight. One of the advantages of being behind the camera is that no one expects you to be perfectly coiffed all the time. One of the disadvantages is that you can’t use a role as an excuse not to look your best when the event demands it.

  I pull out my phone and call the barbershop down the street to confirm they can take a walk-in. “Yeah, man. We’ll put you on the list now if you get down here in the next fifteen.”

  I slip my feet back into my shoes and grab my wallet. I find Trent and Audra on the couch, holding hands and a conversation in hushed, adoring tones. I have to admit, they’re a striking couple. He’s big and burly, a bear of a man, an impression only amplified by the delicate girlishness of his new wife.

  “Hey again.” She greets me with a smile. “What time should I be ready tonight?”

  “I have a car arriving here at six.”

  “Perfect. Thank you so much for taking me. I’m so excited to see the film. I’ve seen a lot of buzz on Instagram.”

  “Well, I hope we live up to your insta-expectations.” I offer her a smile, then look at Trent. “Going to get my hair cut. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

  He shakes his head, grinning at me. “I’m good, brother. Thanks.”

  The barbershop is one of those hipster throwback places with wood paneling and antiques everywhere. The kind of place that’s trying to look like a small-town main-street barbershop—like one might see in a place like Royal.

  The receptionist greets me and has me sign in on an iPad, then offers me coffee or a beer.

  Bemused, I take him up on the offer of a beer, and he delivers a local craft brew in a Belgian glass. It’s sublime—a funky sour, oak-aged. It puckers the lips and leaves a light bitterness on the tongue.

  “This is fucking great,” I tell the receptionist, and he grins.

  “They brew it next door. I swear they’ve increased our business by thirty percent.”

  “Matt.” A burly guy with tattoo sleeves up both arms approaches and holds out a hand for a shake. “What are we doing to your head today?”

  I skim my hands through my hair. “My girl likes the curls. But I have a red carpet thing tonight.”

  He studies my hair for a moment, then nods. “I gotchu. I’ll clean up the edges, leave the top longer. You’ll look good. And your girl will still have something to grab onto.”

  “Thanks.” I blush as I carry the beer with me to his chair.

  “Shave?” he asks, and I run my hand over my chin. I didn’t shave before leaving for the airport, and it’s prickly now. I could hit it with the electric razor when I get home, but why not enjoy a little pampering?

  I nod. “Yeah. That would be good, thanks.”

  A half hour later, I leave the barbershop, my face tingling with fancy aftershave, and the back of my neck feeling a little lighter w
ithout my hair curling every which way over it.

  Back at the apartment, it’s silent, so I slip quietly to the bedroom and settle in for a nap before the show tonight. When I wake to my phone’s alarm, the sunlight is streaming through the curtains and my head is foggy and disoriented. I reach for Ani, but of course she’s not here, because I’m not with her, I’m home.

  California.

  I look at my phone. Quarter to five. I spring to action. A quick shower to scrub the rest of the grime of travel from my skin, moisturizer, and then I dress. As I comb my hair into place, I hear Trent and Audra moving around in the living room.

  I fire off a text to Tiffani: Hey, hope you’re having a good time at the shower. Miss you.

  She doesn’t reply. When my phone beeps, it’s the message from the rideshare app letting me know my ride is nearly here.

  Showtime.

  I pocket my wallet and keys and go to collect my plus-one. Trent and Audra are in the kitchen, her back to the refrigerator, sharing a moment that is plainly not for my eyes, but when I clear my throat they ease apart and flash me a pair of sheepish grins.

  “Ready?” I offer Audra my arm, and she takes it.

  “Take good care of her,” Trent orders.

  “Aye, captain. Break a leg tonight.”

  He grins and bumps my offered fist.

  As we make our way down the stairs, Audra lifts the hem of her dress so it won’t drag in the dirt.

  “You look nice,” I remark, and she does. She’s wearing a simple celery-colored dress that will catch eyes and leave an impression. Her hair is in a tall, Ariana-Grande-esque ponytail. I’m pretty sure it’s longer than it was this afternoon.

  “Thank you, so do you.” She smiles up at me. “Thanks again for bringing me with you. I’ve been so nervous to meet you, but Trent’s right, you’re super nice.”

  I have to laugh, because I don’t know if super nice is a phrase Trent would use at all, let alone to describe me, but I get the point.